


La Vie en Morceaux

by RiseHigh



Category: Mr. Selfridge (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseHigh/pseuds/RiseHigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pieces of Mae's life during those days between learning that she would be getting a divorce until her return to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris (1928)

It was Tuesday—a normal Tuesday of dinner, drinks, and dancing—until she was three steps up the staircase and then it wasn’t.

“Mae.”

She paused and turned around. Mae was surprised to see him in the foyer. Gregor had been due back that morning and when he wasn’t home by dinnertime she left without him, assuming that he would return the next day. “You’re home.”

“That I am. We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait until morning? I’m tired and I’m sure you are after your _business_ trip.”

“We both know it wasn’t business.”

“Of course not. No one goes to the Côte d’Azur for business,” Mae said with a sigh. “What is it? Does _Sissy_ want to spend another long weekend with you again so soon?”

“Cécile and I will be getting married.”

“What?” she asked; her mouth slightly agape. She must have misheard him. They had an arrangement, she ignored his affairs and he her occasional lovers. It worked well and they were both adults about it. Sissy, however, was barely an adult.

“We’re getting a divorce.”

Mae descended the few steps so she stood in front of him. “We are?”

“It would be best if you move out by end of the week.”

“Best for whom?”

“Let us end this with dignity.”

“Yes, it is quite dignified for you to order me out of our house and onto the streets.”

“My house,” he said and she rolled her eyes. “You won’t be on the streets. Pick a hotel and I’ll cover the bill for a month so you can get your affairs in order.”

“And as soon as I’m gone, she’ll be moving in?” Mae asked, even though she already knew the answer. She had known this girl was trouble as soon as Gregor had started seeing her. Vapid as the girl may be, she had clear ambitions to be more than the mistress. Still, Mae had thought Gregor was smart enough not to be taken in. After all, he had never fallen for one of their traps before.

“She arrives Friday.”

“You’re a fool, Gregor. I don’t know what promises that girl…”

“Woman.”

“Barely,” Mae said with a scoff. “She’s playing you.”

“You would know.”

Mae shook her head. “Don’t you dare compare me to her.”

“Why not? You married me because it was advantageous for you.”

“And there were no advantages to marrying me?”

“For a time.”

“And now?”

“If I’m going to be played, it might as well be by someone young and beautiful.” Mae moved to slap him but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Uh, uh, uh,” he warned. “You don’t want to give me more grounds for the divorce, now do you?”

She glared at him for a moment before breaking eye contact. “I can fight it,” she said when he released her arm.

“You won’t.”

“It’s not your decision, Gregor.”

“Nine years, Mae. In that time, I haven’t been the only one who’s had affairs. Do you really want the public raking through every detail of our lives?”

“I survived it once; I can survive it again.”

“We both know that’s not a fair comparison.”

“A divorce is a divorce.”

“Yet I’ve neither been convicted of profiteering from war nor laid hands on you,” he said and Mae closed her eyes briefly at the mention of Loxley. Even after all these years, the memory still hurt. Gregor waited until she opened them again before continuing, “Even if you had fewer lovers, your affairs will come across worse than mine. It’s the way of the world.”

He was right and she knew it. From the moment he said the word ‘divorce’ she had known that it would not be feasible to fight it. Aside from the scandal of going to court, Mae knew that it was unlikely to receive any kind of income from him given her own affairs. She might be able to leverage a settlement from him if she did pursue it, but not before every sordid detail became public.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” she asked. “Just disappear without a fight?”

“Yes.”

She tried a different tact. Mae doubted it would work, but she had to try. “Can’t you take some time and think about this?” she asked demurely.

“I have thought about it.”

Mae placed her hand on his arm. “Be reasonable, Gregor…”

“I am being reasonable.” He picked up her hand and moved it off. “I plan to cover your hotel fees, remember? I’m under no legal obligation to do so.”

“Nine years,” Mae said with a shake of her head. “Are you really going to cut me out of your life like this? Leave me with nothing?”

“You’ll still have your fashion house.”

“You know very well, I can’t support myself on that alone.”

“You’re resourceful, Mae.” He took her hand as he continued, “You’ll find something or someone.” He paused to kiss her hand. “You still have a certain classic beauty and there’s always someone older, less discerning…”

She moved faster this time and cut him off with a slap. “You may be able to force me out of my own life, but I do not have to stand here while you insult me.” She turned and started up the stairs. “I’ll leave in the morning,” she continued without turning around to look at him. “This time tomorrow you can have your little whore in your bed.”


	2. The Channel (1928)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces of Mae's life during those days between learning that she would be getting a divorce until her return to London.

When it came down to it, Mae didn’t stay in the hotel for the full month—she didn’t even make it a full three weeks. Upon checking into one of the nicest suites, Mae intended to spend as much as possible and charge it to the hotel account. Gregor owed her that. Well, he owed her more than that, but if this was all she was going to get from him, she would push it to the limit. The first week, Mae hosted a series of lavish dinners in the hotel restaurant and was able to pretend that everything was fine, but the first morning she saw pictures of Gregor and Cécile in the society pages, she knew that it wasn’t. She canceled her dinner plans for the evening and spent the night drinking alone in her room. After a couple of days of wallowing in self-pity, Mae reluctantly came to terms with the fact that she needed to come up with some kind of plan.

She poured over the books of her fashion house the next afternoon, which confirmed what she already knew: there was no way to support herself on that alone. Mae then called Léone—they had a business venture together and were occasional lovers. The pretense of the call was for him to deliver her the financial papers for the business, but the folder of documents remained untouched as they dined in her suite and moved into the bedroom. Mae spent the next day studying the files. As it stood, the venture was doing well, but once the influx of financing she had been providing it ended, it would be barely turning a profit. From what Mae could tell, the venture would survive and might become prosperous in the future if Léone found another investor, but that left nothing for her.

That night, Mae left Léone asleep in her bed and went to sit by the window with a cigarette and a drink. There was nothing left for her in Paris. She had grown to love the city, but the idea of starting anew there seemed impossible. Mae was too old and too tired to do it all again—especially when she would still be running in the same circles as Gregor and Cécile. Seeing him with that blonde little thing on his arm would be a slap in the face. Just thinking about her moving into the house and taking over her rooms made Mae feel sick. She would leave Paris—go somewhere quieter where no one really knew her—perhaps Geneva or Zurich. But first, she needed to go to London.

The next day she had gone to see Gregor at his office to tell him that he would be getting her a train ticket—first class—to London for the next day. He balked at first, but Mae politely informed him that the alternative was her staying the full month at the hotel and continuing to charge all her expenses to his account. A package was delivered to her hotel that afternoon containing the tickets and a note from Gregor: _A car will be waiting for you when you arrive at the station in London to take you to The May Fair. The first two nights already paid._ Mae smirked when she saw the bit about the hotel—she hadn’t even asked for that. For a bastard who was divorcing her, at least Gregor still had some class.

Getting on the train in Paris felt almost surreal. Mae knew why she was there and what she was doing, but it wasn’t until she was on the ferry to cross the Channel that the reality fully sunk in. Her life in Paris was truly over. Looking out at the water, Mae couldn’t help but think back to the last time she had been in London nearly a decade before.


	3. London (1919)

Three days before her wedding, Mae found herself waiting in a car outside a club in London. The trip had been something she had been putting off—the kind of thing that she tried to convince herself she didn’t need to do, but was too much of a realist to not do. During the divorce proceedings, her attorneys—well, Harry’s attorneys—negotiated a settlement that had provided her with an income. All of Loxley’s liquid capital had gone to the Crown in exchange for a lesser sentence for his crimes, which meant he had been forced to sell his smaller estate in Northern Yorkshire to finance her income. After everything he had done to her and how much effort he had put into fighting the divorce, it was a victory to force him to sell something—even if he still had the house in London and the main estate in the country. 

The income, however, would terminate upon her remarriage. Mae didn’t so much care about the loss of the income itself, but she had invested and set aside a modest sum that she wanted to protect. The moment she married Gregor, all of her assets would become his. And, while she trusted Gregor in ways she had never trusted Loxley, Mae still wanted some kind of insurance. She concluded that buying shares in something we the best chance of having that. Technically, the shares would become Gregor’s as well, but if she kept the stock certificates in her lockbox at the bank and had someone vote her shares by proxy, he might never know about them. It wasn’t perfect, but was a better alternative than leaving the savings in her account.

When the door of the club opened and Loxley walked out, Mae took a deep breath and waited for her chauffeur to open the door so she could get out of the car. She adjusted her hat as she walked towards him.

“Mae,” he said when he saw her. She said nothing, but just looked at him evenly, even though hearing him say her name brought back a number of bad memories. “Did your new fiancé realize what you are and turn you out before you made it down the aisle?”

“Charming as ever, Loxley,” she said disdainfully. “My wedding is in three days.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I had business in London,” she said, looking past him as Mr. Lawrence exited the club next—just as she had instructed him to do.

“Lady Loxley,” he greeted.

Loxley looked visibly annoyed at the use of the title, but Mae just smiled. Her title—well, her courtesy use of his title—would continue even after she remarried. While Mae had a right to call herself ‘Mae, Marchioness of Loxley’ she had no desire to remain tied to the Loxley name—unless, of course, it annoyed her ex-husband.

“What do you want with her?” Loxley asked. 

“I hired Mr. Lawrence as my solicitor and agent,” she explained. “I wanted to acquire some stock and knew you would never sell them to me directly.” He was clearly annoyed and Mae did her best not to show much she was enjoying this. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have paperwork to complete before my train leaves tonight. I do hope you enjoy my money.”

Mae got back into her car before he could respond and spent the afternoon with Mr. Lawrence ensuring that all the paperwork was in order. When that was finished, she had her chauffeur take her first to the bank and then to Selfridge’s. Ignoring the displays and sales staff around her, Mae headed straight for the lift and went up to the executive floor. She smiled in greeting to Harry’s secretary. “May I?” she asked and the woman nodded.

He looked up in surprise when she walked through the door. “Hello, Harry.”

“Mae.” He stood up to greet her with an embrace and a kiss on both cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“I had business in London.”

“What about the wedding? Shouldn’t you be preparing?” he asked the questions in rapid succession. Mae had missed the ‘Mr. Selfridge’ energy he brought to every conversation.

“The details were settled weeks ago,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And Gregor hired people to do the actual preparations. He doesn’t want me lifting a finger.”

“Then you’ll let me take you to dinner.”

Mae smiled but shook her head. “My train to Paris leaves in an hour, but I wanted to bring you this.” She handed Harry the proxy paperwork Mr. Lawrence had prepared. “I bought Loxley’s shares in the store. The certificate’s in my lockbox at the bank.”

“Why?”

“I hardly think he deserves them,” she said lightly and he laughed, but Mae’s face became serious. When Rosalie had been in Paris with Sergei, Mae had taken the girl to lunch and learned that Loxley was back in London. And, while Harry had ultimately come out ahead, Mae knew it had created a strain. “I’m sorry for all the trouble he’s caused you.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him.”

“He did it because of me,” she said with a shake of her head. “It was retaliation for you assisting me with the divorce.”

“And I would do it all over again,” he said with such sincerity that Mae couldn’t help but smile. “Plus, I really do enjoy watching him lose,” he added and Mae laughed. “But Mae, these are your shares now. You have a right to sit on the board. Why are you giving me this proxy?”

“Because I want you to vote my shares,” she said simply. “I trust you.”

“I’m honored. You’ll get regular updates—same as any other board member.”

“Only in correspondence from you,” she said quickly. “I don’t want anything formal sent from Mr. Crabb.”

“If that’s what you want.” For a moment, she thought he was going to drop it, but he was Harry—he could never drop anything. “Do you not want Gregor to know?” he guessed and she nodded. “Mae, are you having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she assured him. “It’s insurance—a contingency plan.”

“If you’re having doubts, you should call it off.”

“Harry, I appreciate your concern, I truly do, but I know what I’m doing. Gregor is nothing like Loxley.” He really wasn’t. From the moment she met Loxley, he had tried to control her and her him. At the time, Mae had enjoyed the game, in part because never thought she would lose. She had been so very wrong back then and was not naïve enough to make that mistake again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Trust me.”

“I do.” 

She smiled and gave him a hug. “Now, I really must be going.”

“I wish you could stay for dinner.”

“I’m getting married in three days, Harry,” she paused, letting her hand linger on his cheek for a moment. “I need to get back to Paris.”

“Of course.” He took her hand in his. “But, Mae, promise me one thing—if he ever hits you or…” he trailed off when Mae looked away. She closed her eyes briefly at the memory. Harry waited for her to open them again and look at him before he continued, “If he so much as lays a finger on you, promise you’ll call me.”

“Gregor won’t—he wouldn’t—he’s not like that.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again.” He started running his thumb over her knuckles. As much as Mae loved her life in Paris, she missed this—having a friend who genuinely cared about her without any pretenses. Of course, Harry could be a bit overprotective, but he always meant well. “So if he does anything…”

“All right,” she said cut him off. “All right.”

“You'll leave—none of that stiff-upper-lip nonsense you Brits do.”

The way her phrased it was enough to make her smile. “I promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded before kissing her hand. “Goodbye, Mae.”

“Goodbye, Harry.”


	4. London 1928

Mae had no intentions of unpacking when she arrived at the hotel. She wouldn’t be there long, so there was no point to it. She only opened one of her suitcases to get the essentials for that night and the next day. The next morning, however, Mae stood at the foot of the bed staring at the contents of two suitcases and one trunk as she tried to decide what to wear. It was times like this where she missed Pimble. It wasn’t that she couldn’t dress herself—she had been living without a dedicated lady’s maid since Pimble had gone to care for her nephew’s children after his wife had taken ill three years prior—but Mae missed the decisive way that the woman could read what Mae really wanted when picking her outfits.

To be honest, Mae also missed the companionship the woman brought. While she did not intend to stay in London, Mae had hoped that she would feel something when she got off that train—a sense of home or some comfort—but instead she felt loneliness. Everything reminded her of the life she once had and the woman she used to be. She didn’t want to go back to that life—to being Loxley’s wife. Time had lessened the pain, but the memories of living with him still hurt. Nevertheless, a part of Mae longed to go back to being that person who all of London thought was invincible, unstoppable—and not some twice-divorced former show girl without two pennies to her name. Well, she may not have money now, but she had her shares. 

Mae gave the clothing on the bed another critical look and swapped the necklace she had laid out over one of the dresses. “That’s better,” she said before starting to get dressed. With her dress and jewelry on and hair and make-up done, Mae stood before the full-length mirror and examined her reflection. She looked good—sleek and sophisticated, but not trying too hard. No one would guess that her entire life was pieces. Never mind all that. She could do this. All she needed to do was put on an act and no one would question it. It had worked when she checked into the hotel and it would work when she went to the bank. 

Selfridge’s, however, would be a different. She knew she could breeze through the shop floor without a problem—after all, more than half the sales assistants wouldn’t even know her. Harry would though. He knew her probably better than anyone else did. Harry would want an explanation. He wouldn’t let her get away with merely telling him she needed to sell her shares. Harry would ask why and she would have to tell him. There was an alternative, of course—she could sell them without telling him. Mae shook her head as she dismissed the thought and slipped into her coat. She couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to Harry if she sold them on the open market. He deserved the opportunity to buy them back or, at the very least, have advanced notice of the sale. 

Mae put on her hat and picked up her gloves. It was decided. She would go to the store and tell Harry her plans. Tomorrow she would sell the shares—to Harry or to anyone else who would buy them—and leave London. Permanently.


End file.
